etica si echitatea social-ista

"Proprietarul nu poate schimba aspectul sau destinatia proprietatii comune fara a obtine mai intai acceptul din partea asociatiei de proprietari."

somatie aparuta "oficial"

intr-un mail,

care e "just for fun".

pai bine domne,

nu va e jena??!!

cu trotoare rosii, tipatoare, plantate,

modificate/fara acorduri/fara macar sa fiti

proprietari de indiviza,

dar pe care ati inghesuit 500 obiecte pe

cm patrat/luminite/bobite/ulcele

si inca niste …bete cu luminite

cum ramane???

pai cf articoului invocat,

scoateti decoratiunile care iau ochii oamenilor,

de ajung la accidente auto pe DN.

Animal Farm

some animals are more equal than others (or so they think)

vot pentru Crin Antonescu

NEWSLETTER 19 NOV
Newsletter 25

echipa lui crin

Mesajul saptamanii

Nu exista doua Românii! Exista o Românie în care oameni sunt în greva, oameni sunt în strada, unii ca sa protesteze, altii pentru ca nu mai au de munca. Românii au dreptul de a trai cât se poate de bine acum, nu când vor rapoartele prezidentiale, nu când le prognozeaza guvernul si Fondul Monetar International!

Ma gasesti pe

Scrisoare pentru cei care doresc sa ma voteze

De regulă, în ultimele zile de campanie candidaţii se adresează mai ales nehotărâţilor, încearcă să mai obţină voturi, să-i convingă pe cei care oscilează între o opţiune sau alta. Eu am ales să mă adresez direct dumneavoastră, cei convinşi deja că eu pot fi o soluţie la actuala situaţie din România. În primul rând ca să vă mulţumesc pentru încredere şi pentru energia pe care aţi reuşit să mi-o transmiteţi pe parcursul acestor săptămâni lungi şi grele. În al doilea rând, ca să vă spun un lucru foarte important. Toate analizele sociologilor serioşi arată că dacă cei care vor să voteze cu mine vin la vot, eu voi ajunge în turul doi. Ăsta este motivul pentru care de cinci săptămâni vi se transmite din ce în ce mai tare şi mai apăsat ideea că nu am nicio şansă, în special prin sondaje trucate dar şi prin comentarii care consideră un lucru de la sine înţeles că finala se va juca între domnii Băsescu şi Geoană. A fost o campanie foarte grea, pe parcursul căreia a trebuit să fac faţă la două maşinării uriaşe de propagandă. Sau, pentru că suntem deja o echipă, a trebuit să le facem faţă împreună. Aceste maşinării n-au reuşit să vă convingă să vă schimbaţi opţiunile dar pot reuşi să vă demobilizeze. Să vă facă să staţi acasă, convinşi fiind că nu am şanse. Realitatea e cu totul alta. Marea mea şansă sunteţi dumneavoastră. Sunteţi mulţi. Votul dumneavoastră mă va aduce în turul doi. Iar în turul doi sunt cel care are cele mai multe şanse să câştige în faţa lui Traian Băsescu. Mulţi vorbesc acum şi despre "votul util". Ne spun că, dacă vrem să scăpăm de Băsescu, să votăm cu Geoană care are mai multe şanse. Eu vă propun un lucru simplu: veniţi la vot toţi cei care vreţi să votaţi cu mine şi vom vedea duminică seara adevărul. Nu vă faceţi griji pentru turul doi. Până şi sondajele aranjate arată că pot căştiga detaşat în vreme ce situaţia domnului Geoană e mult mai complicată şi s-ar complica serios pe parcursul următoarelor două săptămâni, când vor apărea "dosare" pe care cei care au guvernat împreună până în septembrie le-au adunat unul despre altul. În plus, am mai spus-o, e important să scăpăm de Traian Băsescu. Pentru România bunului-simţ e la fel de important şi ce punem în loc. În aceşti ultimi ani ţara a fost condusă mai mult ca oricând prin minciună. Acest sistem rău vrea să se menţină la putere prin singura metodă pe care o ştie, tot minciuna. Am decis să vă scriu pentru că primiţi mesaje false de atâtea săptămâni. Dacă aveţi încredere în mine şi în ceea ce propun, puteţi avea încredere şi în acest ultim mesaj: vom caştiga dacă veniţi la vot!

Al dumneavoastră, Crin Antonescu

Vă aştept pe blogul meu, dar, şi mai important, vă aştept la vot, pe 22 noiembrie.

"Popor blestemat sa aleaga intre doi fosti comunisti"

sper sa nu fie asa.

au trecut 20 de ani:

un fost comunist ar putea sa se retraga,

cu sau fara lacrimi,

celalalt fuge oricum de confruntare: sa ramana la soacra acasa.

noi votam pentru schimbare,

ceilalti pe mare

sau la Moscova..

“May you live in interesting times”

It is an exciting moment, after 20 years, to remember and live the experience again. It is not just being young again: it is going to hell and back, through deserts and oasis, on the clouds and 20,000 leagues under the sea.

On the 21^st of December 1989 I spent most of the time in the Roman Square, shouting with the rest of the crowd against the Ceausescu Regime. When the protesters dispersed, I went to the University square where an unequal fight took place: the army with APVs on one side and the anti-communist demonstrators.

The coverage of Newsweek includes the following passage:

“the police formed ranked on the streets, student Realini Ionescu said last week in University Square, the site of the first pitched battle. They merely blocked our way to the palace, but they did not shoot. At first they tried only to control us, then Realini recalled the Securitate forces drove their armed vehicles straight into the crowd. “It was horrible” the student said “People were crashed under the wheels…”

Indeed I would meet the bureau chief for Eastern Europe, Newsweek’s Michael Meyer at the University Square, a few days later. In 2009 Michael Meyer would publish a book about the events of 1989.

The afternoon of 21^st of December 1989 in the University Square is still in the shadows for me. While there were shootings in the center of the city I think a defense mechanism was switched on. Much of the time spent there was under terror. I was scared to death. Perhaps some of the “revolutionaries” recall how brave they were. How loud they shouted and so on. I think most of those in the first front line died. There are many famous quotes on courage, but one says: “courageous is to be frightened but go on, to run to take the bullet is just crazy”.

I remember everything covered by shadows, through a thick fog. The weather was fine though, extraordinarily warm for late December, but to me it felt like it was cloudy. I had had nothing to drink, but it felt like being drunk. Maybe it was too much adrenaline, too much to cope with, the reasons are beyond me, but the result was a kind of trance. This state of semi –unconsciousness prevented a breakdown, after all most of people who happen to get to these places by chance, were running for their life. If fully aware, that was maybe the best thing to do. If I think how many innocent bystanders were killed in order to have Iliescu as president, then a sailor with a slang language, it wouldn’t have been worth it.

I wonder what my life would have been…

On the 22^nd of December we broke free. It seems such a long time ago, freedom is not interesting, when you have it, breathing is not something we think about and yet it is vital.

My mother and sister had gone before me to the Central Commitee square, which today is named the Revolution square. I went all over town, following APS with free people on top now, just the day before they had killers inside them.

When we arrived at the TV station, the only one back then, there was no more room to get in. I met a few friends and we went the Radio building, because we were told fighting broke out. On the way we stopped at the Old Royal Palace, where there were tanks and journalists. This is when I met Michael Meyer, from Newsweek. We talked for some time and a few words from the conversation were printed in the copy of Newsweek, with Ceausescu dead on the cover, December 1989 issue, The Fall of a Dictator. The irony would be that a few moments later I met James Wilde from Time, and started a short career as a translator and assistant for foreign press correspondents.

The association with James Wilde was an extraordinary experience. An amazing man, Mr Wilde had a white hair, waving in the wind of the “revolutions”. He was about 60 years old, with a remarkable experience in every corner, witnessing all the major conflicts of the planet. James Wilde knew from the very beginning how the “Romanian Revolution” will evolve and succumb. He foresaw the detour, the emerging of a group of “reformed” communists who would benefit by taking power. He has seen a lot of military takeovers, coup d’etats and regime changes not to see through the manifests of the new “Salvation Front”

The TIME correspondent stayed at the Intercontinental Hotel, like all the rest of the foreign media. Located at the University Square, this was the representative of the American style of architecture, the little skyscraper, in a place were different perspectives can still be admired: the Romanian style of the Ion Mincu School of Architecture, the French Classical style of the University, the “Ceausescu view” on the building of the National Theatre and the communist block of flats, all in opposition to each other.

The Intercontinental Hotel has been trough a lot, in the communist regime, during its fall and thereafter; with its Securitate omnipresent before and throughout 1989, the machine gun fire in December 1989 and the takeover fights between different companies and Romanian “entrepreneurs” in the capitalist economy.

James Wilde was not afraid, even if outside the hotel there was shell fire, tanks were near by and it looked like the hotel will crumble down any minute. He had been through enough to keep working on his article, through cannon fire. It even looked like he was enjoying it. We met a few people, including the leader of the students, Marian Munteanu. This is when I first met Viorel Gaita and we would keep on meeting 20 years on, at the Lycee Francais.

The TIME experience was short lived. I would later meet a few other correspondents, James Wilde was the Rome correspondent and he would not be sent to cover Romania again.

But the money was good, so I felt I should bring over other people:

One was Dan Minulescu, a good friend for about 15 years. With his breakthrough in the top Forbes and Capital, we entered two different worlds ands we don’t see each other any more.

Back in 1989, I was the one “giving” him a job, by calling him on the phone:

“-hey

-what’s up?

-come over here, man

-you crazy, where?

-at the intercon

-you mean to be shot?

-no, to get rich

-how’s that?!

-there are western journalists who need all kindda things: translations, cars, drivers, connections, interviews, history lessons, you name it

-…

-so, what do you say?

-all right, I’ll come”

So he came and translated and worked for Newsweek’s Michael Meyer, whom I met before, talked to, but decided to work for James Wilde, with the competition, as I liked the TIME correspondent, and the magazine, more than the alternative.

In The Metro I met another guy Mihai X, I forgot his other name. He used to be a guide with a permanent frowning back and forth, of his eyebrows. I told him he should come and work at the Intercontinental. In the first place he wouldn’t hear of it, wouldn’t want to be killed, then reluctantly he obliged.

For about three months we worked together, after which I stopped work with the foreign press, but he stayed on for years, even became a character in a Discovery history piece on the Last days of communism and for all I know, he may still be the correspondent for the London Times in Eastern Europe or elsewhere.

The work log for the foreign press included short spells with various newspapers of the world, at some times with three different journalists in the same day.

Other times an exclusive contract, with two people working for the same media outfit.

The Globe and Mail, Helsingin Sanomat, Radio Sweden, TIME and other have been an interesting experience.

The Finnish journalist created a furore, from early in the morning. He started his day with large amounts of booze and at midday he was stiff drunk. We learned two things with him: first, how difficult it is to get a drink in the North and second: how to be a journalist for dummies. We were forced to try to do the homework, for a good pay. We switched places, different journalists changing interpreters and staff.

For a long while, I worked with Mishu (Mihai), I for a journalist from Radio Sweden and Mishu for another one with the London Times. The two journalists were close friends, we guessed even lovers, we shared responsibilities and perhaps, they shared stories: the readers of the Times did not listen to Radio Sweden. At major events: large rallies, miners’ invasions, and occupation of the Government building we were all there: journalists and their staff. After the first weeks, the correspondents decided we could be trusted to cover the stories ourselves, or just got lazy, bored or cold. So Mishu and I were there at the University rallies all throughout, Victory square demonstrations and counter-rallies. It was dangerous; many of these mobs were violent, except for the peaceful “hooligans” demonstrating against the Iliescu regime. They were called “hooligans” by the then president, but what a mistake that was. His supporters were the aggressive, dark-age material and the opponents were highly educated, intelligent and peace loving men and women. Eugene Ionesco, the Romanian Ambassador in Paris declared themselves golani in solidarity with the anti-Iliescu crowd.

This was a difficult period, with a country in turmoil, coming to terms with a communist past. People have been brainwashed and believed the official story of the propaganda machine. The media was state controlled and the opposition was presented in the cruelest colors.

Corneliu Coposu was the leader of the National Peasant’s Party, an old but fearless man, who spent time in the communist prisons. An inspiring figure, in spite of the difficulty he had to speak to a crowd. Vilified by stupid political adversaries, he was the best political man Romania had after WWII. Belatedly, at his death all the political spectrum and millions of people understood what a Great man the country had lost.

Science Fiction -- The year of our Lord 2027, the Natives are getting restless

Candidates for the presidency of the county of Mal-u Mal-i, on the lake Staru-lesti, meet on local TV, for a debate on religion, security cum hospitality, water works and shacks, clean vs sujo…

Their dialogue

“-we have a security issue

-because you’re not paying enough for hospitality cum PeRe cum Safety

-$ 1,000,000 is not enough?

-they are good guys

-good for the felons, they act like they’ve been biten by their freak friend on three legs. What if they’ve got rabies?

-they take a bow in front of me

-Ou sont les neiges d’antan, when they were just sleeping, now they curse between their missing teeth at those paying them, they growl, forget about saying good day!!

-they always salute me and my good fellas, clicking their boots!

-or perhaps their slippers

-you should be grateful they don’t kick you (but we could include a clause)

-but we pay them

- the other company you want is Beating Guys Service! I tell you in private, with just 40 pairs of eyes in this room these are just Baga Gontract’n Spate!

-what if they sue?

-Me? I am the one sueing, I’m Baronu’ Guberniei Salbatice, they’re small fries.

-But in front of many people, in messages, you tarnish their image (and others’)

-I wasn’t first, I just sent a mail with their lack of education, thick neck. I can speak about managerial, professional disabilities, only to inform you…and it is Abbadon’s fault, he provoked me. It is my image that counts, not vice versa

-those people at the gates are a bad deal: they drink, sleep, don’t say hello, growl like those dangerous dogs they keep around.

-the others are just Baga Sula’n Spate, Boys Grab Service I’m telling u. and I can say anything…the others better watch out, careful with the piano on the stairs.

-Guess who’s coming for dinner then

If u can’t get what u paid for, at least have a good laugh

“Some things in life are bad
They can really make you mad
Other things just make you swear and curse.
When you're chewing on life's gristle
Don't grumble, give a whistle
And this'll help things turn out for the best...

And...always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the light side of life...

If life seems jolly rotten
There's something you've forgotten
And that's to laugh and smile and dance and sing.
When you're feeling in the dumps
Don't be silly chumps
Just purse your lips and whistle - that's the thing.

And...always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the light side of life...

For life is quite absurd
And death's the final word
You must always face the curtain with a bow.
Forget about your sin - give the audience a grin
Enjoy it - it's your last chance anyhow.

So always look on the bright side of death
Just before you draw your terminal breath

Life's a piece of shit
When you look at it
Life's a laugh and death's a joke, it's true.
You'll see it's all a show
Keep 'em laughing as you go
Just remember that the last laugh is on you.

And always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the right side of life...
(Come on guys, cheer up!)
Always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the bright side of life...
(Worse things happen at sea, you know.)
Always look on the bright side of life...
(I mean - what have you got to lose?)
(You know, you come from nothing - you're going back to nothing.
What have you lost? Nothing!)
Always look on the right side of life...”

20 years on

A short while ago, Alexander, my American nephew, was born-

Long and Happy Life!!

In 1989, little did I expect a newcomer in the family, born in the land of the free, or to have the best friend, move to Argentina, of all places…

At the time of the fall of the Berlin Wall I was a student , working part time for the Travel Office, a training ground for about 50 richest hombres out of the top 500 Forbes, some of them well connected guys, even back in those days. One of them has a chapter in this book, a few others will be mentioned only in passing.

In the beginning of the winter of our discontent, 1989, I was sent in the mountains, to prepare the ground for a bunch of British teenagers, ready to take a peak at a Communist country, while skiing. In the mountains, nothing came through about the demonstrations taking place in Timisoara, we were cut off from the rest of the world. So I came back to meet my guests at the airport, unaware of the shootings, which were absent from the “news”. While we were in the airport, I on one side, and the British girls and boys on the other side, a decision came from the Great Leader to close down the borders.

Those who had already landed before the cut off were trapped in the airport, for a long, cold winter night. Radio Free Europe and other media were telling their story, while it was happening, but I would find out about this only later.

I was sent “across the border”, in no man’s land, to sooth worries and talk to the perplexed crowd. But I had no clue what was going on and therefore no answers. In fact, we were worried, even in this communist land it had been unprecedented and shocking.

A colleague of mine had a moment of vicious panic: after waiting for hours without any explanation, he stood up, took his briefcase and started for the door of the airport:

“-f**^&##@***, god damn

-what’s the matter, Okwe?

-I’m outta here!!

-why?

-I know (in a whisper) I am sure!!

-??

-Why they closed the damned thing down…

-somebody told you

-no, but it must be a bomb, so run for your life…

I couldn’t, even if I believed the revelation, because the Securitate had something else in mind. A plain clothes guy, who is a prosperous MP in the capitalist regime, twenty years later, said to me:

“-You gonna go there and make those wild kids shut up and stop their shouts!!

-They want to know what’s going on. They’re supposed to be in a hotel, asleep by now.

-None of their business. They must keep quiet!!

-There’s a guy from their Embassy, talking to them …

-Never mind!! YOU talk to them; the state gave you a mouth!

-…”

Nothing more could be said and I found something new I got from “the state”. In the meantime, the teachers who came from Heathrow with the young wild saxons told me what was going on, they had learned from their Embassy official about Timisoara. They didn’t get all the gruesome details, but they received the excellent advice to go back to London.

By this time, there was a lot of pressure on them to enter Romania and “continue” their holiday…Ceausescu sealed the border, but some travel officials wanted to get an exception for a group of “kids”. The apparatchiks thought them harmless, not affiliated with any foreign spy agencies, and decided to get them in the country, by crook or by hook.

High ranking bureaucrats from the Ministry of tourism came to the airport to convince the teachers to “cross the border” into Romania, then go back to the UK and make publicity for travel packages, even if it was clear tourism would be dead and buried at that point.

A few days later the fighting started. If it wasn’t for their Embassy official, about 40 subjects of her Majesty would have been trapped in Romania for weeks, or worse.

The paperwork after the arrival, a special last minute offer and cancellation of the Last foreign Mohicans visiting the communist regime were tiresome and required stamps and approvals. While working on it, about 200 meters from the Party Headquarters, all hell broke loose.

Ceausescu signed his death warrant, calling for a huge meeting, thinking there would be the usual propaganda slogans and nothing else.

After booing and protests, the participants broke ranks. Some of them passed under the windows of the Travel Office. In awe, I went down with Laurentis, to meet fate and spend some of the most difficult hours of my life.

We joined the protests at the Roman Square. We were surrounded by the anti riot squads. They moved back and forth and we followed their every move, breathless.

“Every move you make

Every breath you take

Every step you take, I’ll be watching you”

Only we didn’t feel like singing. I was grasping Laurentis’ hand, every time there was a sudden noise, shout or military advance. I was scared to death. Shots were being fired. But not close to us. Later on, we learned about the people killed a few blocks away. Nobody died near us. But we couldn’t be sure about the next few seconds. There was no telling what would happen. The worst was to be expected.

I went to house near by and ringed the bell. An old lady showed me in. She allowed me to call grandma; we had no phone back then, so I couldn’t call my mother at home. I asked grandma to keep in touch with mother, and sooth her if anything happens:

“-what do you mean? Asked grandma.

-well, it’s just that…

-what can happen?

-nothing, but...

-You’re not in some kindda trouble...

-No, but I gotta go...”

She knew we couldn’t keep talking on the phone for too long. When calling her from a public phone, which was the only option in our neighborhood, about seven people would queue outside the phone booth, waiting for their turn.

Back on the street, we decided to go to the other square…

And 20 years on I would become Abbadon, Shiva of Malta in the Muddy Sea.

Online we have abridged chapters, offline we have the whole Last Picture Show, Peter Bogdanovich

Notes for our readers

Characters in this book have been inspired by the fiction of Dickens, Balzac, Saul Below and other great writers found at http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2002/may/08/books.booksnews ,

http://www.friendswood.lib.tx.us/bookinfo/frpubtop150.htm and at the Book Fare coming soon. In particular I would note: Great Expectations, Wuthering heights, The Magnificent Ambersons, the Sound and the Fury, Ciocoii vechi si noi, Le rouge et le noir, La Comédie humaine, Great Gatsby, Darkness at noon, Death comes for the archbishop, Ethan Frome, A tree grows in Brooklyn, Lonesome Dove. A complete list will be available in the printed edition

Both the basic and the unabridged, edition with photos are available : order now!

There are thousands of hombres from Tasmania, Argentina, Java, Belgium, China, Saudi Arabia and many other parts of the world, met at the Olympics, or in headquarters of a multinational company, in the top ten best on the globe, who have lent features to our players in this novel. Nevertheless, the final characters are pure fiction.

The author is trying to highlight some of the shortcomings of our society, the community we live in. He is not without faults or misgivings of his own, as we are about to see. There are no pure evil characters (except, perhaps, for Ceausescu, the Dingbat and some colonels met while sailing).

Some of the events cannot be explained here, the readers may understand better, we do not pass judgement, it is a fantasy, but what an exciting, amazing world in which you are invited to take a joy ride.

This could be wrtten, because we live in a democracy and in 1989, the author of these lines took to the streets for the right to be free (Newsweek, dcember 1989 issue, artcle The fall of a dictatorship). Democracy means opposition, freedom of expression and Justice for all. A tyrant tries to shut off the press, the critics and hear only hymns. This here is a small effort to try to change the small world around us. In the “original” democracy, voters care little and understand even less the issues at stake.

The “Six Pistols” get control of the game, with Sid Vicious supervisor, flanked by Charon Stone.

Other credits go to the lyrics of the Beatles, U2, DM, Van Halen, BUG Mafia and a few others. We are indebted to the movies on the list NYT top 1,000 movies…with special mention for Good Fellas, Reservoir Dogs, Doubt, No country for Old Men, Monty Python complete works, Snatch, Lock, stock and two smoking barrels, Prizzi’s honor. More in the printed edition, where we will disclose our contributors, if they will see fit.

This canvas is meant to be a pointillist work. I am a firm believer in the theory whereby the creator placec a few dots of color and you, the reader, mix them, in your mind, and we’re both responsible for the image created.

There are strong abstract, surrealist undercurrents and as a result, characters will have one eye on the face and a few others at the back .

Heroes Cement-ery

…Also sprach Der Übermensch

Azul Macau has two gates: there is a secondary access, whereby you enter from a sea of mud, Out of Africa without the charm described by the baroness Dinesen. The mud is making its way into the pueblo and the streets of Azul will be paved with Earth: Eco-mocca-prehistorical…

We are in a capital in the European Union, which looks like the worst parts of Africa or the third world. Nearby, zafado pikeys, valiente muchachos throw tonnes of garbagge. You can also stumble upon a sheep herd, cows and wild fire caused by “recycling”, which here means burning rubber and plastic bottles:

smoke till

you choke!

The field and even the forest which are close by, have been turned into a huge dumping ground.

Life goes on,

much shorter ,

without too much fuss, don’t worry, be happy. The authorities have been called, but they find nothing, do nothing. Corruption is a key word, and there are no kickbacks, nothing to be gained in an open field full of rubbish.

It is a different story when someone tried to place a publicity sign in Azul: the police came in half an hour, before the first letters of the sign showed up. Squealing is a past-time for old people in search of harjoneala.

Change is in the air though. The leader of the land is, for a few more weeks, a sailor who drinks and drives the car, with a crooked laugh, he calls women names…he bears more than a passing resemblance to the General of Marquez, who was carrying in a wheel barow some of his manhood. Our marinheiro is showing off his manhood with every occasion. He seems to be on his way out.

The people of Azul are Der Übermensch, wonderful or violent, educated in America and in the slums of Slumdog Millionaire, they range from quite well off to having big debts & a big mouth, redneck and white collar together share a world of joy and speeding cars.

Crème de la crème and sour crème, mixed together by chance, ill fate and an attraction to the Place, not unlike the one we see in Close encounter of the Third kind, Spielberg.

Our made guys of Macau Azul are nearly nouveaux-riches. High profile citoyens can’t yet afford an alarm, so they use and abuse animals as barking non stop alarm systems, and neighbors as Collateral Damage in a barking shoot out:

The Bashketville Big Shots are in fact Big Shouts

why?

tomorow is another day, another episode

Charon Stone

Macau Azul, aka MosCow on the Staru-lesti, starring Rob-in Williams of Bashketville, as funny as the original Moscow on the Hudson comedy…

Chapter 1

When you enter the “gated” community of top stars from Azul Macau, you are met by a three legged freak. The wild animal is barking at you, running after or attacking you, depending on his mood, your company and the hospitality service, sleeping or just idling near by. There couldn’t be a more telling symbol, entrance-sign, short description of the hamlet you are about to visit. Cerberus sits near the Styx; This Fidelio-Cerberus on three sticks gives his alarm signal: you are about to cross the Styx, beware of the other Reservoir Dogs making a living in the hamlet. You think the underworld of Tarantino is charismatic? Better wait to meet the two-legged characters of Macau Azul. Mr Pink, Orange, Blue pale after one is acquainted with Quentin Omar Balthazar, Esteril Garibaldi Pato, Charon Stone

At the gate there is an idle Charon,

you are near Hades

close to Nades…

Fidelio-Cerberus III gets his name from of his fidelity. Not for a particular person, other than the sleeping stars, but for being the True “welcoming” image of his hamlet. Fidelio with Moscote should be photographed and placed on a sign: “Beware, you are about to visit the Land of No choice!”

Fidelio has a few wild companions and some supposedly tamed ones. In Fact this is the pueblo of the Reservoir Dogs. Real, fury ones and Tarantino fiction look-a-likes.

As you walk around the soon-to –be paved (with earth) roads you will hear the barking and sometimes biting dogs. There is a well established connection between owners and dogs, made even more obvious if you watch them in this pueblo de Azul: some are just apparel, because a flashy car goes with a dog or an eye popping color on the house. An evident status symbol, some will waste their life on three square meters of cement, others will bite in a terror filled afternoon. In the aftermath, the proud owner says it is the victim’s fault. Besides, he owns a piece of land, why don’t you shut up and pack your things. There are dogs with silkcoats and others which will tear your coat and hand apart. There is the oriental wild dog, which is sent by the Afghan local Karzai to clean his bowels on the thoroughfares. Or the Javanese dog, walked without a leach by “here’s-Johnny!” of the Shining fame. In China, Macau they eat dogs, in our novel it will be quite the reverse, but we anticipate.

"The writing on the wall", other Games for the aged

"The writing on the wall" ***

***an idiom, is a portent of doom or misfortune. It originates in the Biblical book of Daniel—where supernatural writing foretells the demise of the Babylonian Empire. how about the Azul Babylonian Macau?

Sex & Games for the Aged, in the pueblo of Azul Macau

The writing of graffiti on the wall-

In some civilized lands, graffiti is banned and a penalty is imposed on young rebels who cover the walls with their ineptitude. In Azul Macau, graffiti is official and is supposed to show that something is going on, even if it is ugly, disgusting, and ghetto-like. Graffiti is there to impress upon you that something is in the works, in the next 50-60 yrs. And it is a portent of doom...you could also try other Azul Macau Games:

• Pass by the wild or big dogs and try your luck,
• Stay with poo on the roads and wait for the cholera outbreak…
• Power games with phone calls and fake meetings- we’ll try to stay in power to the end.
• Mud throwing
• Paving the streets with Earth (NEW* offer) for mud slides,
• Erecting shacks, foul water games, Xmas floodlights
• Sell yr house in order to pay for a shack: our vision, yr money, zero sum game.

Visit Cão-ghiol : mud baths, mud throwing, wild dogs, poo & rustic shacks

Trespassers pay $ 50 for 200 trips through the hamlet- and they will turn the village into Cão-ghiol, with the help of wild dogs, great leaders and very active community.

• A new travel package can be advertised, through Helen’s office:
• Visit the incredible hamlet within the capital and
• you will enjoy the adventures of a wild life safari:

• Mud baths, mud throwing,
• wild dogs (with Javanese passive, non-leach walkers), poo and rustic shacks.
• Experience life on the edge with
• SURVIVOR Games-
• Taste the water and survive, or not.
• Enjoy the hospitality of PeRe Petrovski service, with his welcoming stars,
• always with the gate opened, waiting for you with a friendly sleep at the entrance…
• Admire the architecture of the rustic shacks, the graffiti on our ghetto walls
• walls written for next century works: XXII century asphalt and merry floodlight Xmas

Tales of Mistery and Imagination

Like in the old days, men lie about loyalty, their love for the Great Leader, the Party. Now they fake expertise on talk shows, or Public Meetings, they vow honesty, but lie all day long…

-“We are very interested in the public (read own private) good”.

Small characters educated in a corrupt system, they get to the point where they believe in their own lies, even when they see documents proving the different truth. One other reason why Azul and the country are like lands from the Latin American surrealism, or the South American dictatorial regimes…

El presidente has a majority confronting him, FMI, after warning, keeping the money and economic calamity around the corner, but he is still playing his Funny-Horror games.

As you go at the village level, you get the same games.

People are in danger of loosing their house and local leaders build a hood with pearls, for useless pumps.

Tortilla Curtain, by T. C. Boyle, included in the Harvard top 100

In Tortilla Curtain, by T. C. Boyle, included in the Harvard top 100: http://www.harvard.com/onourshelves/top100.html, events happen in, and near a gated community on the West Coast of the United States. There are illegal immigrants, other people breaking the law.

We have some illegal workers and people breaking the rules, while invoking and complaining to the law, behind our Tortilla Azul Curtain… Even 7 year old kids are working illegaly in, and around, Azul. When the time came to replace the security guards with people on different contracts, there was an outcry. Those milking the azul community were outraged: it’s impossible, this must not be. It’s unfair…because it doesn’t serve our purposes. Psychoanalyse and get to the bottom of this

In order to get or award contracts we step on anything and care about little. We understand when Petrovski, who is “securing” the gated community, is abusing his employees by keeping them for 24 hours on duty, and offering, as a direct consequence, a disservice to his customers-on the grounds that they pay little, even less can be offered. This is XIX century, South-East Asian sweat shops or Michael Moore’s vision of capitalism.

One could still be fooled into thinking Azul reached the new Millennium, by looking (only) at the flooding, rainbow-colored Xmas lights and, in the darken corners, not paying attention to the sordid streets. It is always easier to pay (a fortune) to hang lights, than to supervise the janitors who are not doing their job, if they know nobody cares whether the street is unclean or not. Hanging the lights was made with a “cannon”: a contract for which a lot of money is paid, even if there’s another contractor, willing to do the job for ten times less-which is what happened to the azul Xmas lights: one year they were hanged with an outrageous cost and a few months later, it cost ten times less (with inflation, dropping leu and all). The money for such extravagant decorations would pay for a few years of clean streets, but you have to look inside the mind of the rulers to understand the mechanism: if this is the way one makes money, expensive contract, loads of money for little work-then there is a high degree of tolerance, for the business partner who does the same thing, especially when it is other people’s money, that are involved.

Capitalism-Communism and the Third Way...after the fall of the house of Ceausescu many people went into business and acquired skills, or at least the illusion they have them...old habits die hard: inspite of all the talk about the common good, people were not interested in their communities, and this lack of care is obvious today: plenty of “civilised” walkers throw away or just abandon garbagge on their street (true-they try to do it on the next street). Common property is there to be used and abused. We don’t take part in the life of the village, with a few exceptions.

A few initiatives proved this point: some events were organized and publicized behind the Azul Curtain: the Little Gardner, 1^st of June and a few trips to the forest. None of them enjoyed parents participation. There have been between 10 and 25 children taking part in trips, events, and just one parent, for one single community action. It was a whole different story for a barbecue, beer and grill party…seats were all taken then.

in the next episode

Lasciate ogni speranza, voi ch'entrate.

Action takes place in a few different worlds, in different ages: you’ll travel to the modern middle –ages, where we find dog poo on the street, thoroughfares are not cleaned for weeks or months, water is foul, but local leaders erect backgammon shacks…trespassers come with jalopies and earthen the streets.

Some events will take place in the middle of a modern day coup d’etat, in the headquarters of one of the best companies in the world, at contemporary Olympic Games, in New York, Atlanta and Macondo Azul Ghetto…Why ghetto? Read and find out more. Take an imaginary walk around and you will see the stupid, ugly graffiti on the walls, illiterate and lying announcements, piles of dirt and poo. Lasciati ogni speranza: you can’t drink the water, park your car near the house, but you find out about the Grand Design: Big Architectural Plans.

Near the end of the modern Middle-Ages, small and big people started to move to the village of Azul, in the European Union, the Eastern Part. They came here with high hopes and big egos. After an earlier coup d’etat, many of the inhabitants have made it into a new class: nouveaux-quite riches. All around Azul, there are very poor families, a huge difference specific to the third world. If you walk the streets of this village, you could believe this is the Africa of Omar Bongo with piles of dirt and poo, stupid, ugly graffiti on the walls, illiterate and lying announcements, and flashy cars sharing the road with dangerous jalopies, many of them speeding and zig-zagging between kids, on the pot holed streets. The water is foul, only to be expected in this day and age. What comes as a surprise, is the decision to make it even worse, by adding a construction on the water well and not cleaning substances to the water.

Life is much harder in Somalia and there are funny moments in Azul. For a while, there is an elderly, supposedly wise man who takes hilarious decisions- such as walling out some of his neighbors. Hostilies are rife, meetings of the local assembly end up in shouts, accusations and wasted money and boasting.

This is too far “East of Eden”- good is a value of consequence only when it is for our own good-fellas. Local management is applied in a narrow sense-with rules which are bended, avoided or enforced when and if it is to the advantage of our famiglia.

Even if foul, water is insufficient. A real wise man, Michael Man, has a wide experience and excellent technical expertise. He offers the best solutions, among them: cleaning the water and a big pump. His perfect solutions are shoved aside: a new water well is imposed in a thirteen guys gathering: we love our small water pump...

it's a wonderful, wonderful world

"Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against...troubles, and by opposing end them"

Leadership, Role Models

We have (enough of) a Great Pirate Leader watching over us, from the presidential palace and smaller, copy-cats supervising subjects from the local power-mansions.

The Great Pirate has something of Richard III, in his looks: they both have a strange, troubled appearance, with an eye blinking at the “pasarica”

There is a resemblance in theatricals too; the plot of the Shakesperian play has something in common with the political act. They both include treason (Petrica you’re the best) and discarding unwanted companions, some of them, recently dismissed in TV interviews as “no-good”, even if they are the crème de la crème, the best minds of the Romanian intelligentsia.

We voted for what we believed was a smart sailor. Alas, poor Yorick…

If you believe the official propaganda: these are the “Golden Years”, why not “epoca de Aur”, if we are at it?

We went to see some theatre plays and we were given brochures (in the photo attached), published with public funds? Our taxes? In these expensive looking publications they talk about the wonderful leadership of the city mayors (for those who had contracts with the town hall, I assume)…

Apart from the electoral publicity which we found disgusting, there are the more recent news that the ship –captain might be on his way to the sea: the polls show that he is losing the power. Good riddance

27 habits of highly in-effective people, sold in more than 15 million copies and Xmas lights

Gated communities dictionary at Wuthering Fat-cat Heights

Cleanliness: Not necessary- poo is disintegrating anyway, if the wind will carry it in the lungs of the Enemy, so much better; infants play on the street, put hands with poo-dirt in their mouths: it’s the natural selection, what the hell! And we give you a free ride (to the hospital) what the f*** do u want more!

Security: necessary for the famiglia, as for the rest—we have stars and stripes. Sleeping, but with a friendly boss. We can’t take the leaders in the security service field -Boldy Guardians Service –who, I can vouch, are “un-professional, they have no managerial skills” (unlike us, we have all the skills and more). They force the contract down yr throat. Ntz, ntz, ntz.

Permits-to-trespass-- are a Very good chance to earthen the streets, to knock down a few undesirables, to have “dust in the wind, all we are is dust in the wind”…same Natural Selection, if a few kids fall prey…too bad, too bad.

Official papers, documents: we can get them on the phone, if We want .You will never (you hear, never!) get them if you want: online, posted, etc. And be careful, don’t ask too much, don’t talk too much, or else… you get the police asking (only you) questions.

Playgrounds- never near a made guy. We’ll destroy them. We’ll vocalize on the theme; we have a Local Hymn, further down, but to cut a long story short: we’ll have a backgammon, bambi-lici hall (for us), so this is all we can do for you.

Parking: our Pro-phylactics, Alpha-plus(In Aldous Huxley's Brave New World you see who is Alpha and who is Delta) wise-guys park anywhere; for the others, it’s a whole different ball game- a place to park is too much to ask for. If you take action, we’ll summon you. Be very, very careful and watch yr de-constructive language…

Big foul water-wells --are absolutely necessary…we decided: you pay for them! You’ll get your money‘s worth…in sermons and exhortations, if not in what you paid for.

Debts --you better pay them, if not we’ll black-list you (down to 2,300, where we stop-we don’t go down to 2,100, because we’ll find one of the made-guys: as a made-guy he can shout to the others to pay, he doesn’t have to). In other words, we decide who is black-listed and who isn’t. Who gets the summons, who doesn’t, we are the law.

Law –this is only for the others, not for us. I can drink, as the top sailor, with Borcali, get in the car and drive…under the influence? So what, I’m El presidente!! For now…

I can call the police on you, because u collected (forced, sic!) donations for a playground. If the praca is close to us-this cannot be! On the other hand, we can erect a church, or an opera house, whatever -with your money, without the legal papers, procedures, wherever, whenever! Why? Because “we are Famigly! We’ve got all the sisters with me”….

Working block class: they’re welcome; they can all get here (well, at the Contras’ residence that is-“don’t stand so close to me”, try close to him). We scratch their back, they shout in your ear, we go to their tennis courts, and they turn your kids’ sleep into a nightmare.

Information- more like dis-information: when we want to decide something (which means it is apriori fait accompli) we’ll send you some “smoke on the water”, vaporised Somma…you don’t need to worry too much, trust us…dormi linistit, Fariseii Mondiali Introvertiti vegheaza pt tine…

Parties--- mine is excellent, don’t you dare touch it!! It Has Tailors-tailor made PMs, excellent Ridzis, wonderful Helenas…the others are gao-z*

Local Hymn: “vows are spoken, to be broken—Enjoy the silence” DM…

when we need to summon you down: you’ll hear The NewSpeak, all right, but otherwise, if you want to know “what’s happening, what’s the buzz…” well: “try not to get worried, try not to turn onto problems that upset you, don’t you know everything’s all right… close your eyes, think of nothing tonight….” And if it won’t be alright, what the hell: it’s the contras, Malfoy –he’s done it all wrong, what can we do, we tried, but couldn’t fix it.

Fixing things --we’ll fix the things which (we think) need fixing. For instance, Tom wants to park in front of his house? Too bad, try another time and place, pal. This is where Johnny parks his car & the Pakistani, his dog. You don’t like it? Too bad for you…get lost: it’s our way, or the highway…

Disclaimer: this could be true in an imaginary world, or maybe in Pipaera, or Afumatzi, but c’est pas arrive pres de chez vous, pas encore!!

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